


No Change

by GirlonaBridge



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Pain, Schroedinger's Daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9281225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlonaBridge/pseuds/GirlonaBridge
Summary: The night in ITU. Episode add-on for I Do, I Do, I Do. Not a fix it. Just a wallow in angst.DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT ANGST.I don't even know why I'm posting this. This fic answers no questions and proposes no theories - nothing happens and it's all about the emotions.





	

_Brrrr-brrrr… brrr-brrr… brrr-rrr_  
  
Breathe. Remember to breathe.  
  
Voicemail  
  
Beep  
  
Breathe. Speak.  
  
Edward. It’s Serena.  
  
Breathe. Don’t choke. Don’t stop now.  
  
You. You need to call me back. It’s. It’s Elly.  
  
Choke on her name.  
  
Lip trembling. Bite on it.  
  
Jaw quivering. Clamp it down.  
  
Body shaking. Hold it in.  
  
Ringing silence. Quick before the bleep.  
  
Just. Just call me. Please.

-  
  
Bernie gives Serena as much time as she thinks she needs to call her ex-husband. Elinor’s Dad. Time, space, peace, privacy. She’s not sure if she is right to do this. It’s what she would want if she… God forbid… if she had to make that phonecall to Marcus.  
  
She pulls herself up sharp. Don’t think that way Wolfe. No wallowing.  
  
She fetches water because she doesn’t know how long it is since Serena drank anything and dehydration won’t help anything right now. And she gets one of the ITU staff to let her into their break room so she can bring it in a proper glass because Serena deserves that.  
  
When she gets back, Serena is fumbling with her phone, eyes blind-full of tears.  
  
‘Stupid, fucking, thing.’ She jabs at the screen with a thumb, loses her grip and the phone rattles to the floor. She throws her hands up.  
  
‘Serena?’ Bernie approaches softly.  
  
‘You get it, will you?’ Serena scrubs at her face with the heels of her hands. Bernie pauses a moment to fish a tissue out of her pocket with her free hand then crouches to pick up the phone. An electronic voice is droning out of the thing and Bernie recognises the end of a voicemail system. Bernie turns the phone over and ends the call. There is a moment with nothing but the regular ITU sounds and Serena’s stifled sobs. Bernie stays where she is, lays the phone on Serena’s lap and keeps her hand over it, pressing gently against her thigh. She wishes she could send real comfort down that hand, real healing. It feels so small a gesture but she is compelled to offer whatever she can. Serena drops one hand from her face and covers Bernie's hand with her own, clinging tight every time a sob escapes her.  
  
They stay like this until Bernie’s feet cramp and Serena falls silent, wipes her eyes again, again, and is still.  
  
‘Water.’ Bernie offers the glass she has been holding all this time. Serena takes it shakily but manages to sip steadily enough. Bernie balances herself against the bed frame now that she has a hand spare and lets her weight drop onto her knees. She gazes up at Serena’s face.  
  
‘You didn’t get Edward?’  
  
‘Voicemail.’ Her jaw tightens. ‘I’ll still have to…’  
  
Her phone buzzes and vibrates against her leg, under Bernie’s palm, under Serena’s hand. She jumps like she’s been stung.  
  
‘Oh God.’  
  
Bernie snaps the phone right way up, checks the screen. It is indeed Edward. She holds it out to Serena. Serena stares at it. Then her eyes snap to Bernie’s. Bernie inclines her head to the door.  
  
‘Do you want me to…?’  
  
‘No.’ Serena stares at the phone again. ‘Stay.’ She takes it and shoves the glass in Bernie’s direction. ‘Here.’  
  
Bernie can feel Serena’s hand shaking in that moment of transfer. As she turns away to find somewhere to deposit the glass she hears Serena draw a rasping deep breath.  
  
‘Edward.’ Her voice is small and tight. Bernie steps behind her and rests the tips of her fingers on her shoulders. Not crowding, just there. Even from that distance she can hear the pitch of Edward’s voice down the phone and winces with Serena.  
  
‘She had an accident, yes, but…’ Of course, Edward already has half the story. He’s hardly letting her get a word in edgeways.  
  
‘I know she called…’ Serena’s voice wobbles treacherously and she has to stop to gulp air, gulp her emotions down. Bernie slides her hands down, tightens her grip on Serena’s shoulders and Serena takes another breath.  
  
‘She’s not ok,’ she manages all in a rush and her voice really is cracking now. ‘Edward she’s not ok.’  
  
Bernie holds her as she shakes, as the voice down the phone goes silent, then she can pick out Serena’s name, the panic, the urgency in Edward’s voice, demanding information. Bernie drops her head nearer to Serena’s, until her lips are almost pressing into her hair. If she doesn’t speak soon, Bernie is going to have to nudge her, to push her to tell him, and she really, really doesn’t want to do that. But the strength of Serena Campbell is something to be marvelled at.  
  
‘She’s on a ventilator. It’s… it’s very bad. You need to get back here. Now.’  
  
Serena locks her jaw, closes her eyes, and Bernie can see that she’s just letting the waves of Edward’s panic and questions and noise wash over her, that she can’t take much more. She puts up with it though for over a minute, although she can’t bring herself to answer his questions. At last, Serena’s eyes snap open.  
  
‘I can’t.’ She stops. Chokes. ‘I can’t talk about it Edward. Just get here for her.’  
  
She sounds as hard as she has ever done for those five seconds and she stabs her finger viciously at the phone to end the call. But the next moment she is shaking so violently that the phone slips again and it’s written right through her how much that conversation took out of her. Bernie, soothes and squeezes her shoulders with her hands, presses her lips to the crown of Serena’s head in a kiss that she holds and holds. Until Serena reaches up to clasp Bernie’s hands and pull her closer, half-turns so she can press her head into Bernie’s belly, blindly seeking the comfort of physical contact. They stay in this strange, awkward embrace, Bernie half-bending over, Serena twisted in her chair.  
  
‘I’m not phoning that bitch,’ Serena says savagely, muffled in Bernie’s scrub top. ‘I’m not. I won’t have her in here. She’s not…’ Serena pushes herself away, around, strokes the back of Elinor’s hand so tenderly.  
  
‘She’s _my_ daughter.’ 

-

 _Skin. So soft. So young._  
  
And warm. Blood still flowing.  
  
Pulse there under her fingers. There’s a pulse.  
  
But…  
  
Know it’s the machines. Know what they’re doing. Each one of them. Could tell you. Could tell you if…  
  
But…  
  
She’s still warm. Still soft. Still living flesh.  
  
Wish. Could believe she’s just sleeping. Wish. Could believe she might open her eyes. Could open her eyes.  
  
Lovely eyes.  
  
And look at her hands. So perfect. Perfect nails. So particular.  
  
Can’t remember the last time. Held her hand. She’s a big girl now. So grown up.  
  
Mum’s funeral.  
  
Oh God. 

-

Bernie waits. She tries not to hover, leans her weight against the back of the chair while Serena sits forward, as close to Elinor as she can get. Bernie tries to remember how it is best to be in these situations, with “a relative”. It’s so much harder than any relative has ever been. She forces her shoulders to relax, softens the muscles in her face, exudes as much calm and patience as she can muster. She is patient. She waits.  
  
Waits while Serena cries softly, tears trickling down her face.  
  
Waits while she whispers, shunting closer to Elly’s head, sharing some private confidence.  
  
Waits while she talks to nothing. Questions Bernie knows she knows the answers to, hopeless.  
  
Waits while Serena sits in silence, stroking, then holding, Elinor’s hand.  
  
Waits for hours. For as long as Serena needs.  
  
They both fall into a sort of waking stupor, lulled by the repetitive rhythm of the machines, pressed down by grief, exhausted, strung out, kept awake by the intensity of their focus – Serena on Elinor, Bernie on Serena.  
-  
The buzz of Serena’s phone jerks them both. Serena moves like someone underwater, swimming her arm through heavy air to pat the bed and locate the phone. She blinks slowly at the screen, her eyes working hard to focus at light that swells and fades, words that shrink and squirm on the screen.  
  
‘He’s getting the first flight in the morning.’  
  
Bernie squeezes her arm. She’s not sure how she feels about Edward being here, for Serena’s sake. Will he do her any good? Or will he make everything harder for her to deal with? Either way, she knows, he has to be. And she will deal with whatever comes.  
  
The phone buzzes again. Serena stares at it.  
  
‘No.’ She growls.  
  
Bernie drags her head up sharply. She takes in Serena’s face, a fixed mask of fury, determination and pain.  
  
‘He’s sending Liberty?’ she guesses.  
  
‘No,’ Serena grinds out again. ‘I’m not having her.’ Her mouth fixes in a straight line for all of five seconds. Then it wobbles, melts. Her eyes flick to Elinor, to the window, to the machines, around the room, the door. Her breathing quickens. Bernie realises, with another dull twist of horror in her gut, that Serena is panicking. Her arm twitches Bernie’s hand away and, very carefully, Bernie withdraws it. Moving as smoothly as she can against cracking joints and clenching muscles, Bernie stands.  
  
‘I’ll have a word.’ She makes her voice low, calm, but full of authority and she waits beside Serena’s chair as she says it. Waits until the words sink in through the layers of emotion and the ringing in Serena’s ears, until she raises her eyes and meets Bernie’s. Bernie doesn’t touch her now but holds that look a moment. The corners of her mouth twitch, not in anything remotely resembling a smile, but a look that says as clearly as she can, just leave it to me.  
  
She steps back, she turns, she leaves the room. She looks back. Serena is watching her. Bernie nods. Serena turns back to the bed.  
  
Bernie goes in search of a nurse. She noticed earlier the one who seemed the most on the ball, the one who had the ward at her fingertips, all things under her eye, the Fletch of ITU. That’s who she needs. ITU has a strict visiting policy at the best of times and if Ms Wolfe says someone is not getting in, then they are damn well not getting near the place.  
  
Serena stays, eyes locked on her daughter.  
  
-

 _How?_  
  
Maybe if…?  
  
No.  
  
Maybe if she pretends everything is going to be ok?  
  
If Guy were here?  
  
But no. An extradural haemorrhage. Even that clever bastard…  
  
How did this even…?  
  
Maybe if she refuses to believe? If she pretends she can believe it’s all going to be ok?  
  
Try it out.  
  
It’s ok Elly. Whisper. Croak.  
  
Sound like a witch heralding the end of days.  
  
Oh no. No.  
  
Can’t pretend. Can’t lie to her, to myself.  
  
It’s not ok. It’s so not ok right now. Can’t see any way it could be ok.  
  
Maybe if…?  
  
Have they done…?  
  
Of course they have.  
  
But…  
  
Shhhhh.  
  
Shhhh now.  
  
-  
  
Serena has never felt more alone.  
  
-  
  
When Bernie returns it is with a chair piled high with pillows. Serena looks round this time when she enters the room. There’s the slightest shade of relief on her face, through all the layers of grief, that makes Bernie’s heart clench. She sets the chair down and goes to her first, just to stand near her. But Serena reaches out and Bernie takes her hand, wraps an arm around her shoulders. Waits. Serena leans into her.  
  
‘No visitors,’ Bernie says quietly and Serena can feel her voice vibrating against her ear. ‘No visitors until Edward gets here.’ Serena nods. Mouths, but cannot quite voice, thank you.  
  
‘I brought you some cushions.’  
  
Serena looks up, actually takes in the chair and its contents for the first time.  
  
‘I figured,’ Bernie brushes her hand over Serena’s shoulder, ‘you would want to stay with her.’  
  
Serena’s eyes track back to Elinor again, although she stays in Bernie’s arms this time.  
  
‘I can’t leave her.’  
  
Bernie nods, tightens her fingers in gentle pressure.  
  
‘Let’s make you a little comfier.’  
  
Serena pushes herself to standing and realises for the first time how stiff she is. She has been sitting in that hard plastic chair for she doesn’t know how long, barely moving and the tension she has been carrying all day still thrums through her.  
  
‘What time is it?’ Serena casts about for a clock before she remembers she is wearing a watch, holding a phone, but Bernie gets there before she can muster herself to consult either of them.  
  
‘Late. Half eleven?’  
  
Now she is standing, Serena moves to the head of the bed where she can better see Elinor’s face. She reaches out, just fingertips, just catching the ends of her strands of hair. She convulses once. Draws a sucking breath.  
  
‘Here.’  
  
Serena turns to find that Bernie has balanced a pillow across the seat and another up the back of the chair, and positioned it closer, within easy leaning distance of the bed. The second chair stands a couple of inches apart but it also has a pillow, signalling Bernie’s intention to stay. Serena’s heart warms, the tiniest fraction that it is capable of right now. She is too wrung out to do anything more than sink into the cushiony softness that is such a contrast to the rigid plastic that she has been glued to for hours that she could almost weep for the comfort it gives. There is a moment when exhaustion sweeps over her. She leans back and her eyes fall closed. What it would be to give in to oblivion, to forget, to lose this awful, wretched day, for as long as possible.  
  
But the pain inside won’t let her rest yet. The wave of exhaustion peaks and washes over her, diminishes to mere tiredness. And Serena Campbell is a woman who has worked through tiredness and out the other side more times than she could even begin to count. She blinks her eyes open and realises that Bernie is still standing, watching her.  
  
‘I… I thought, you might… want someone…’ Bernie gestures at the spare chair. ‘But if you’d rather I…’ She hovers a step closer, even as she forces herself to suggest she could leave. The urge to be close to Serena is near overwhelming, but if Serena would rather have space at this time then that is what Bernie will give her.  
  
Serena holds out a hand. Wordless. Bernie tucks herself into her chair and, one-handed, shunts it closer. Serena lets herself lean into Bernie’s side, keeps a hold of her. Her eyes drift back to Elinor’s face, still so still. Calm, she might almost say, but there is none of the warmth of calmness, none of the sweetness of peace, in her face. It’s… just… Blank.  
  
Bernie doesn’t tell her to sleep. She doesn’t tell it will be ok, or any other stupid things that they both know would be lies. She doesn’t tell her how serious it is, or things that Serena already knows. She doesn’t say anything. Only holds her hand and lets the weight of Serena’s body settle into hers. Sometime, much later, she swaps the hand she is holding Serena’s with and wraps the other around her shoulders, drawing her even closer. And she cradles her as she watches.  
  
A nurse makes checks regularly and, every time, they stir their heads, following her every move and demanding, with silent looks, that she relay every detail. The fierceness of Ms Campbell’s face and the sternness of Ms Wolfe’s brook no argument. And they can be every bit Ms Campbell and Ms Wolfe in a heartbeat.  
  
The nurse tells them everything, every time.  
  
There is no change.  
  
No change.  
  
No change.


End file.
